


it feels so scary

by iiiOpheliaiii



Category: 19天 - Old先 | 19 Days - Old Xian
Genre: Drug Use, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:00:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24324694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iiiOpheliaiii/pseuds/iiiOpheliaiii
Summary: Jian Yi comes back wrong
Relationships: Jian Yi/Zhan Zhengxi (19 Days)
Comments: 26
Kudos: 62





	1. Chapter 1

It’s real tense – it’s been real tense ever since Jian Yi showed up again, just weeks ago, with a smoking habit, sleeves of tattoos and three extra years. 

It’s so fucking tense. Zheng Xi wants to ease the tension but he can’t, not right now, not with all four of them in He Tian’s uncle’s apartment, this elusive uncle that no one’s ever seen, or even learned the name of.

It’s gotten to be less barren over the years, and now there is a TV, a couch. The TV’s on, sound way down low, some Korean movie playing.

Oddly enough, Jian Yi gets on really well with He Tian now. They were always easy enough friends, but now there’s a kinship. He Tian smirks at so many of the things he says, it’s like they’ve got all these inside jokes, or something. It’s a different, more adult friendship, less earnest but somehow much more real.

Guan Shan is civil to Jian Yi, in a way he is not civil to anyone else. He watches what he mentions, Zheng Xi can see him doing it. 

Zheng Xi isn’t sure why he is the only one who can no longer pretend to understand Jian Yi, who came back different. He wanted him back the worst, wanted him back so badly he felt it, for three years, tight in the back of his throat, filling up his chest. For three whole years Zheng Xi took shallow breaths and now they can’t even talk to each other. 

It’s almost nine, the city blue, laid out before them through the huge window that spreads itself across the wall. 

And maybe it’s not really that tense, because Jian Yi is spread out, boneless on the couch, head tipped back and legs lolling out in front of him, feet facing away from each other on the floor, the floor that He Tian is sitting cross-legged on, smoking. 

Guan Shan looks more relaxed than usual, too, one arm out behind himself for support. He Tian, earlier on, before Jian Yi showed up and they were all just waiting, Guan Shan so obviously not looking at Zheng Xi, had found a bottle of expensive Japanese whiskey he’d forgotten about.

Now Guan Shan is holding it loosely by the neck. They’re all sharing it, no one bothered to go get glasses. And it would be fine, it would all be perfectly fine. 

But silent languor is not what Zheng Xi remembers from his friend, and the dazed smirk is not one he recognises. Jian Yi had showed up with eyes that were all pupil, too slow to greet them. He Tian had seemed so unfazed Zheng Xi had almost felt left out. Like everyone but him was privy to the knowledge that Jian Yi, now, was someone who got so high he couldn’t talk. 

So he’s sitting next to Jian Yi on the couch, every muscle stiff and aching. 

“ – Zheng Xi?”

He Tian is looking at him with polite interest, so at odds with their relationship and how long they’ve known each other. He’s just like that sometimes, weirdly formal, like he forgets that they know how messy he is.

“Uh,” he flounders, feeling oddly caught out, “sorry?”

“How has college been treating you? I never asked.”

He’s the only one who’s going. As a fifteen year old he’d been, in the back of his mind, aware that his life, his home, was nothing like those of Guan Shan or He Tian, but he’d grown up going to Jian Yi’s, played video games there, put cups in the dishwasher. It’s a shock, to realise that nothing was the same about them, really. Jian Yi is not going to college, hasn’t graduated high school. Apparently has his own apartment now, in some distant cousin’s name. None of them have been there.

“Yeah, it’s good,” knows he’s got to give more than that. He can’t tell the truth, which is that finance bores him to tears and he doesn’t want an accounting degree. He sits in the lectures and tries not to scream. 

“No girls?” and now He Tian’s just being needlessly, aimlessly cruel.

Jian Yi lifts his head up from the back of the couch, swings around to face Zheng Xi.

“Yeah,” and it comes out lazy. “What about the girls, Xixi?”

He might as well just bite the bullet and say the wrong thing. 

“Oh, the girls are hot as fuck. But I guess that wouldn’t suit you.”

And the thing is, they have never, ever spoken about this. Not as a group. Sure, Jian Yi had told him the way he was, but not in so many words, and he’d certainly never discussed it with the others. Zheng Xi feels like he has just crossed the sort of line that is not drawn in sand, but carved in rock.

The smile is gone and for an unbearable five seconds Jian Yi just stares at him, blank and quiet.

Then: “Fuck,” the word coming out on the exhale. “Didn’t know that was a sensitive subject. Apologies, I won’t ever mention these hot college girls again. All the incredible sex you’re definitely having with them is not my fucking business. He Tian, you got any smokes?”

“Sure,” smooth and easy while Guan Shan takes another swig of the whiskey, inscrutable. 

This is another thing that Jian Yi came back with – the ability to be really, casually mean to people. He used to shout, scowl in indignation, splutter and reach for stupid insults. Now he’s a dick a lot of the time. Not even on purpose. Guan Shan he leaves alone, because Guan Shan is always so carefully polite to him, Zheng Xi can’t figure out why, but everyone else he speaks to, he makes fun of in a way he never used to, not intending harm but not going out of his way to avoid it.

Half an hour later Jian Yi is passed out and Zheng Xi still feels like he might be shaking. 

Jian Yi came back with all the softness gone out of him, but he gains it back when he sleeps. He’s sprawled out across the couch, on his back, one arm hanging down to rest on the floor, his feet sticking out over the armrest. Zheng Xi wants to go and sit down next to his outstretched arm and wrap it around himself, curl up small with Jian Yi’s hand pressed to his chest. 

Instead he and Guan Shan play Call of Duty, both too tipsy to be any good.  
***  
In a dimly lit bar downtown, all four of them again, all of them still sober, nothing stronger than beer on the table. Jian Yi is sitting next to him just like how he used to, too close, too eager.

Things are almost the way they were, except – 

“He Tian, let’s go out for a smoke.”

“Just had my last one on the way here,” apologetic but mostly looking at Guan Shan, whose fingers are tight around the green bottle.

“I need to say something to you.”

“Can’t you say it here?” 

He Tian always looks amused, mouth always twitching upwards in perpetual mocking hilarity.

Zheng Xi can feel the warmth of Jian Yi’s thigh, pressed against his own, is watching his long fingers fidget with his napkin. Sees how he stares at He Tian for a moment, calculating, before he responds.

“Alright. I know a guy who owns shares of your father’s company, and he really wants to talk to him. But your dad’s being kind of difficult, apparently, so he asked me to talk to you. To let you know that he’s not really happy with his manners.”

“My father’s manners are not your problem.”

“No, He Tian, they’re not. But pretty soon they will be, because I’m gonna have to keep hearing about them from this guy.”

“Fuck you. I’m not involved in my father’s business and I don’t know this guy.”

Jian Yi sips his beer. 

“Hey, don’t shoot the messenger. I’m just letting you know that your dad’s gonna have to think about shaping up, because he’s been pretty rude, recently, to a bunch of his shareholders. They’re pissed, and I’d hate for you to have to talk to them to try smooth it out, so.”

He Tian’s sitting up a lot straighter now, broad in all the ways Jian Yi is not. Jian Yi is small, snappable, bony wrists resting on the sticky table.  
His hands have gone completely still. He smiles wider. 

“Calm down. Don’t hurt yourself. Guan Shan, how’s work?”  
***  
They’re alone, finally, for almost the first time. Both of them in Jian Yi’s apartment. The lights are off, room lit up blue from the TV. The sound’s off, and he can hear the fridge buzzing. There’s nothing in it.

Zheng Xi’s mouth is dry. He’s got an essay due tomorrow, hasn’t done one word of it. The room smells of smoke, and cleaning detergent. They’ve been quiet all evening, ostensibly watching a movie. 

“Want a drink?”

Not at all. He wonders if Jian Yi will ever try to kiss him again, and thinks the two of them alone in the apartment, drinking, is probably the closest he’ll get.  
“Sure.”


	2. Chapter 2

He talks a lot – they both do – but he doesn’t take notice of any of it, just watches Jian Yi’s mouth moving as he chatters on and on about whatever. They’re both yelling, at one point, but neither of them know about what.

Zheng Xi feels the weight in his head like a physical burden and has to lie down, ends up talking to Jian Yi without being able to see him, grinning into the couch as his suddenly-returned friend – friend? – rests his forearms on Zheng Xi’s calves. The pressure of them is warm through his jeans.

The TV is still on but he doesn’t know what’s playing. The bottle, a tall glass bottle full of potent clear liquid, is empty. He’s sure they haven’t had the entire litre of vodka, but then again he’s got the vague idea that Jian Yi has recently thrown up in the sink.

He’s talking without knowing what he’s saying. He’s trying to listen to himself but the words are muffled, the memories keep dissolving when he tries to reach for them.

He wants more of Jian Yi, wants him to lie down too so that they will both be pressed together on the couch as the room jerks back and forth, almost spinning. The noise of the TV is making him dizzy. He wants it off. Jian Yi seems to read his mind, or maybe he hates it too, because then it is off, and there’s blessed silence.

“You doing ok?” Jian Yi is asking him.

“Yeah,” he mumbles. Obviously he’s ok, it’s Jian Yi that’s fucked up now. Zheng Xi’s always been fine.

“You seem pretty drunk, man,” he sounds worried.

Which is ridiculous. Jian Yi is the drunk one, he’s the one who threw up. He’s the one who can’t handle things and Zheng Xi’s gotta look after him, which now that he thinks about it –

He falls off the couch onto the ground and the pain stuns him, makes his eyes sting. He’s about to cry, horrifyingly, he feels that catch in his throat, the twisting sensation in his chest, but that’s ok because he knows how to stop it –

They’re both on the floor, Jian Yi’s inked arms around him. His world is small and dark and too hot, his face pressed into Jian Yi’s shoulder. His own shoulders are heaving, shuddering with sobs, and he’s talking again, through the tears, but he still doesn’t know what the fuck about. Jian Yi’s t-shirt is soaked through in one patch.

“You’re ok,” Jian Yi is shushing him. “It’s gonna be ok, you just had too much to drink, yeah? Hey, it’s fine, I fucking promise you don’t have to be sorry. Nothing is your fault.”

Except a lot of it kind of is, it’s gotta be, because who else –

He wakes up with his ears buzzing and his limbs shaking. His mouth tastes of vomit.

He doesn’t remember much of the night, except that he might have cried.

“Fuck,” and his throat is so dry it’s sticky. A moan from the couch.

“I’m so hungover,” he rasps after a minute, because Jian Yi should already have said it.

Another moan, this time of agreement.

Zhen Xi pauses, then. He feels like shit, and he wants to stay here. He wants to ask Jian Yi if he’s ok.

They still don’t know what happened, where he actually went. He’s refused to properly explain it, which makes Zheng Xi sick with hot rage when he thinks about it, so he tries not to.

He wants to stay but he’s got to go.

“I have lectures later,” he says, wondering if he’ll be able to manoeuvre his aching bones off the floor.

“Ok.”

Getting to his feet is a dizzying experience. The nausea hits him once he’s vertical, once his head starts spinning.

Jian Yi is facing away from him, unmoving on the couch. Zheng Xi watches the nape of his neck for a minute, the steady and minute movement of his ribs.

“Well, anyway - ” he begins but Jian Yi interrupts him.

“I’ll see you later?”

And it’s not the grasping affection of their youth, because Jian Yi sounds casual in a studied way that belies his genuine care, but also Zheng Xi thinks that if he says no Jian Yi still won’t move, or say anything else.

“Yeah,” he manages through the hangover, and something besides the drink twists inside him.

-

University is odd. He feels as if the people around him are something more than strangers – fictional characters, or different animals. Something permanently estranged. There’s no hope of real understanding.

Zheng Xi feels like that about a lot of people, though. He cares about his sister, and his parents. He cares about Jian Yi. He kind of cares about He Tian and Mo Guan Shan. He sees them enough that he wants them to be happy, but he thinks he could put up with it if they disappeared from his life with no warning, indefinitely.

The thing is.

Well, the thing is that he has a girlfriend.

Maybe.

They fuck pretty regularly, and it’s been more or less exclusive on his part. Her too, he thinks.

She’s petite with a sleek black bob and a sly grin and she thinks he’s hot as fuck, which he knows because she’s told him. She’s doing Event Management, and they don’t love each other.

He thinks.

He’s about ninety percent certain.

He feels like he’s been cheating on her for the last month and a half and the feeling heats his skin and speeds up his heart.

Because he can’t – it’s not like he can break up with her, just in case, and anyway, she might laugh and tell him they were never even together, which would just be the last nail in the fucking coffin.

She is skinny in the way that Jian Yi is, but more, her thin wrists smooth and warm in the circle of his fingers.

He Tian had brought her up before Zheng Xi had the chance, and he wasn’t sure why he thought Jian Yi would be upset but he did, and then it was odd when he wasn’t, a jolt, like missing a step.

So Zheng Xi goes to his lecture. He dutifully takes notes that he doesn’t understand, and gets coffee with his sort of girlfriend, and thinks about the smooth, unmarked skin of Jian Yi’s neck, the flex of muscle and bone underneath it.

**Author's Note:**

> tell me what you thought!


End file.
